Watch the Birdie!
by F12Scuderia
Summary: It takes one Evil Aristocrat to know another Evil Aristocrat, even if she wants nothing to do with the underworld any more. She needs heavy persuasion. Luckily, Pitt and Sebastian have everything they need: a spoonful of emotions, a drop of old memories, a hint of seduction, and—oh, cameras! -ONESHOT- (ft. cutie freelance reporter Pitt; BIT OF VINCENT/OC/SEBASTIAN, I guess)


_**Watch the Birdie!**_

* * *

 _ **TRAGIC DEATH AT CLEVELAND STREET:**_ _At half past the morning of 13th September, two young men named Peter Williams and Clark Gardner were found dead with a stab from an old butcher's knife on both victim's right shoulders. The officers who rushed to the scene found the weapon on the floor. Lord Arthur Randall would lead an inquest on the morrow._

Her eyes remain at the paper, as she shifts in her chair and brings the teacup to her lips. By lifting the pot, she feels that the she would be out of tea soon and the dreaded feeling of having to get up and make herself a third pot of tea sounds excruciating. She drags her chair closer to the table and pores over to what she has written. Did the sentence flow well enough? Did she make the headline seem so gruesome? _Tragic_ does seem like an excessive word.

She taps her chin with her pen and thinks again. Would the townspeople appreciate how she delivers the news?

"I am heading home now," a fellow headline editor speaks from behind her. He dons his coat and hat, then walks towards the door. "Don't you want to call it a night and go home, too?"

"Oh, no, I still have to finish this." She gives him a tired smile and gestures to the stack of papers and typewriter on the table.

"If you say so." He shrugs, opens the door, but pokes his head once more. "You sure you're okay out here alone?"

"Positive."

"I'll lock the gates before I leave." He fishes something out of his coat pocket and throws it to her. She catches it deftly and stares at the thing. "Keep yourself locked in, safe and sound, yeah?"

She waves the set of keys in front of her and nods. "I have it all under control. Have a good night."

"Good night." Finally, he leaves her alone. His footsteps resonate in the hallway and gradually disappear.

Shaking her head, but smiling at the thought that someone cares, she places the keys on a nearby table and resumes her duty.

Leading a life of a newspaper editor sounds as hard as it could be; she has the responsibility to read all contents of articles and check for grammatical errors, to verify the authenticity of each story, and most importantly, to develop content ideas that could attract the readers. She has been working under _The Penny Illustrated Paper_ for only three years, but at least the publisher and editor-in-chief Lord Farrington has seen through her hard work and gave her a promising position at the publication.

Again, she drinks from her tea and crosses out the word _tragic_ from the headlines. Two men stabbed on the shoulder sounds all but tragic. Surely, there are other events more tragic than this? She has read more gruesome deaths than this; most notable to her is the Campania incident a few months back. There are also the deaths of the Phantomhives three years ago. Now _that_ is tragic.

She jumps from her seat when the ebony clock suddenly chimes. It is a large, ominous thing, painted in black and trimmed with bright golden. The numbers and hands of the lock are brass. She stares at the hands that tell her it is already an hour past midnight.

When the chiming finally stops, that is when the door starts banging.

This time she screams in surprise, her wide blue eyes focused on the door. She reaches out from underneath her desk, where she has hidden a stiletto.

Whoever is on the other side of the door, he keeps on knocking and jiggling the doorknob, until he seemingly gives up and stops his inquiry.

More startled than actually scared, she braves to cross the spacious office and abruptly opens the door. She peers out, seeing no signs of the stranger. She only sees the dark corridor beyond, with few lamps on the walls to give light. She hears nothing else but her own ragged breathing and pounding heart.

She closes the door and turns around, only to be greeted by a familiar cheerful young man, saying:

"Long time no see, Odette."

Instincts kicking in like an avalanche, she screams, raises her hand and attempts to drive the stiletto straight into his heart—had not another young man stops her from doing so.

"Guess something's never changed. You're still as jumpy as ever," the first man croons, his bright green eyes trained on the sharp, pointed blade merely inches away from his chest. "Did you just try to _stab_ me?"

She takes time to gather her wits about her, observing both men with suspicious eyes. Then the light of realization dawns into her face as she recognizes the first one: he wears a red-and-green flat cap, which matches the plaid scarf around his neck. He wears an expensive black coat, pants, and boots to complete his professional look. But even without the coat or his signature flat cap, she could easily identify him with his pale blond hair and green eyes.

"P-Pitt," she breathes, almost sounding relieved.

"Like I said, long time no see." He flashes his stupid smile again, as he gestures around the office. "Ah, still working quite so late in the evening, are you not?"

"I have work that needs to be done." She snatches her hand from the other man, who now stands to her left: he towers one head taller than she does, with deep red eyes and a mischievous smirk playing on his lips. His clothes, she notes with some kind of curiosity, are rather less extravagant.

"Lord Farrington ought to give you a raise," Pitt teases, one hand on his hip. "You have been working hard for the Paper while he goes out and gets all the fun drinking."

"You cannot talk about him like that," she admonishes, rushing over to her desk when Pitt starts rummaging through her papers and even the crossed out headlines. She clutches the papers close to her chest and glares at him. "What are you doing here anyway?"

"Now that you've asked—" He beckons his companion and taps him on the shoulder. "This is Sebastian; he works directly under Earl Phantomhive. I suppose that name rings a bell?"

Her eyes widen at the mention of the name. She has heard astonishing news of a Phantomhive survivor, but has never caught the chance to meet him in person. Her guard drops as she stares at the dark-haired man. His constant smirk somehow unnerves her, especially how his eyes remain focused on her face, as if she's a mystery worth solving.

"What about Earl Phantomhive then?" She faces Pitt, who takes a seat comfortably on her swivel chair. "And where have you been all this time?"

"Ah, about that. Let's just say I have been scooping up some news here and there before Earl Phantomhive contacted me again—for the first time in three years, too!"

Sebastian smiles and fetches the teapot and cups. He excuses himself and disappears from the room, heading to the kitchens to prepare more tea. "I would be back in a moment, my Lord and Lady."

Pitt notices her discomfort around the butler. "I know, he has his share of enigma with the Earl, but Ciel Phantomhive actually gave me an offer I could not resist."

"What offer?" She leans towards him, as if both are confiding secrets to one another.

He simply grins and waves an index finger at her face. "'Tis a secret, you know."

She scoffs and draws back, then crosses her arms over her chest. "I have not seen you for a while and now you come back to me saying you have an assignment with the Earl Phantomhive. What exactly have you been doing while waiting for his return? Did you actually think a Phantomhive would return?"

"But of course." His arrogant grin dies down almost in an instant, replaced by a serious smirk. "There would always be a Phantomhive in that old manor of theirs, no matter the circumstances. Theirs is a family of a phoenix—they always rise from the ashes."

"If I had not known you before, I might mistake you as one of their dogs, like that sandwich-eating German—"

He bursts out laughing. "If he hears you, he might actually be offended. Diederich's sensitive like that."

She smiles at the thought of Diederich, someone from her past whom she has not seen in years. What would she give to have her previous life back? Then again, her aspirations to serve the Queen's Watchdog died with Vincent Phantomhive. She has no intentions on serving his successor, no matter how much Pitt had tried to persuade her before.

"You should meet Ciel one of these days," he says, calculating her response. "He's reliable and shrewd, with a cute face to mask all that nastiness." Then he smirks and adds: "The spitting image of his father."

Offended, she opens her mouth to argue, but Sebastian returns with tray of steaming tea.

"For tonight, I have prepared a lemon meringue pie and Jackson's Earl Grey tea for refreshments." He bows respectfully and sets a platter for the two nobles. Then he proceeds to arrange the cutlery and pour tea.

"Where did you get the pie?" She refuses to touch the platter, but almost practically seizes the teacup when he offers it to her.

Sebastian only smiles, and Pitt answers for him, "Every Phantomhive butler must be able to do this," as he gobbles his share of the pie and washes it down with the tea.

"It is as Master Crowley says," Sebastian responds. "Are you not pleased with the pie, Lady Alighieri?"

"How did you—"

"Master Crowley informed me beforehand of your name, Your Ladyship." He spares a sideways glance to the freelance reporter, who has now leaned back against the swivel chair and burps in contentment. "He also told me that you could help us with our latest endeavor."

Upon hearing that, Pitt jumps from his seat and enthusiastically seconds Sebastian's claim. "Dearie me! How could I have forgotten? You keep me so entertained that you also made me forget why we're here!"

"About what?"

"Grandest scoop I have had in years! 'Tis one of the best, I am telling you!" Pitt could barely contain his excitement as he announces, "Darkness lies within the Sphere Music Hall; they actually gather different types of blood, obtained from their audience without them knowing! Earl Phantomhive devised a plan to catch them, and I have the photo of them guvs in the act of doing it! Is it not grand~!"

She stares at her longtime friend, thinking him absurd, but Sebastian clears his throat and calmly explains:

"The Sphere Music Hall disguised itself in order to acquire blood from their patrons, even if it means only by small amounts. However, due to the opposing strategy that my master has brilliantly put into action, the Sphere Music Hall decreased its patrons, and therefore, lost also their suppliers of blood. Now they have no choice but to commit a gruesome crime, one that means sacrificing a whole person to acquire their blood."

"And I have the photo of them guvs in the act of doing it!" Pitt repeats.

"Exactly as Master Crowley says," Sebastian agrees, nodding.

Suspicious, all she could do is extend her hand and tell them, "Do you have evidence?"

Pitt's enthusiasm immediately drops, and he forces a whine in his voice. "You cannot be serious, right? It takes days to print a sole image, you know that!"

"If you have nothing to show me, you know where the door is."

"I have something for you, Your Ladyship." Sebastian takes something from his pocket and puts it in her hand. It is a photo that depicts two startled men standing before a corpse of a young woman. His smirk gradually widens as he notices the lady's surprised reaction, her blue eyes going from him to Pitt.

"It is true then? They are murdering people for their blood?" she gasps.

"The grandest scoop we could have in a long time," Pitt points out. "I work as a freelance reporter you know, so I really need you to do me a favor: publish this photo along with the headlines _SPHERE MUSIC HALL A FRAUD!_ Or something along those lines."

She remains looking at the photo, barely able to comprehend the motive behind the gruesome act. As much as she hates to admit it, Pitt might be right. This could be their grandest scoop, one that would certainly boost her company's fortunes. However, she is merely an editor; and after what happened three years ago, she wants nothing to do with the Phantomhive's dirty works.

"No," she says firmly, returning the photo to Sebastian. "Not this time."

"What?" Pitt deflates, pouting at her. "You can't do this to me!"

"Of course I can."

"Come on. Please?"

"You can submit it to the London News."

"If you're not going to do this for me, do this for Earl Phantomhive." Pitt clasps both of her hands and stares deeply into her blue eyes. "Do this for Vincent."

She almost wavers at the mention of his name. What could have happened, if Vincent did not perish on that accursed fire? She might still be working under him, one of his messenger hounds—tracking, sniffing, _spying_. But Vincent was no longer with them, and so is her previous self.

"No means no." She slaps his hands away and walks away to stand next to the window. She sees the quiet streets of London. Only then does she notice that it rained today. She watches from the reflection on how Pitt motions for Sebastian and whispers something in the butler's ear. If one knows Pitt, they should know that he could never be trusted, no matter how innocent and cheerful he always seems.

Then again, no one should ever trust any of the Evil Noblemen.

Sebastian approaches from behind, while Pitt scrambles and reaches for something. His gloved hand touches her gently on the shoulder, and she instinctively shivers at his touch.

She looks at him from the window's reflection, his deep red eyes seemingly flashing bright magenta for a second. Then she sees another face on the reflection. It takes form of someone she once knew so well, another someone who had made her life worth living. He gave her a sense of purpose, a will to live—and he's standing closely behind her and touching her shoulder. His lips curl into a devilish smile as he leans ever closer and whispers in his husky voice:

"My Lady Alighieri."

She turns and through her tears, she sees Vincent Phantomhive. He lifts her chin with his index finger and slants his head towards her face, their noses brushing.

Then suddenly, comes Pitt's cheerful voice.

"Watch the birdie!"

Bright light flashes all over the spacious room. She grits her teeth and rubs at her eyes, as she hears Pitt snickering. As she opens her eyes again, her blue gaze falls upon Sebastian, who now stands before her and gives her a concerned look.

"Are you quite all right, Your Ladyship?" the butler asks. "Did you see someone?"

"N-No." She clutches her aching head, ashamed to admit that she saw a dead man over Sebastian's face. "I am fine, but to bloody hell with your camera, Pitt!"

The reporter collapses on the couch and keeps laughing to his heart's content. "Oh, oh, have you seen your face? You should have _seen_ your face! It's priceless!"

She throws her stack of papers to him, mindless of the mess it makes. "You are such a child, Pitt!"

"Imagine the headline though!" His fingers motion in the air. "The Penny Illustrated Paper editor: In love with the Phantomhive butler! What a scoop that would make! Now _that's_ something I would offer the London News!"

Her face turns red at the implication, and Sebastian only bows. "I am honoured to be regarded by Her Ladyship in such a manner," he says, his voice almost teasing.

Pitt lets out his last bout of laughter and finally composes himself. He stands before his longtime friend and reiterates his proposal again. "You are to take the image I have and publish it to the masses as soon as possible. You can decide on the headlines, as long as it emphasizes that Sphere Music Hall has done it. I would send you all the details of the story later. And if you don't agree—"

He gestures towards his camera and winks. "Remember that I have something in store for you, too."

"You are almost as cruel as Vincent," she mumbles, and then sighs in defeat. "Very well, Pitt Crowley, you have your grandest scoop of the year. I congratulate you."

"Yes!" Pitt whoops victoriously, before embracing her. "You're the best in the world, indeed! I'll tell Earl Phantomhive about your contribution to this."

Something flickers in her eyes as she finally concedes defeat. Upon the Watchdog's death, she promised she would never do the things she did for him, all the inquisitions and shadowing of people. She told herself she would not step foot into the underworld again, because without Vincent, it was not worth it. Then three years ago, a younger version of the Queen's Watchdog returned, but she still refused to serve under him. She saw him as the incompetent version, a shadow of the former Watchdog.

Now, however, the shadow proves himself to be quite _something_.

She smiles softly and looks at Sebastian. "Send Earl Phantomhive my warmest regards."

* * *

 **Author's Notes:** First of all, I would like to take this time to welcome myself back to the Kuroshitsuji fandom. I know it has been a while since I posted or written anything Kuro-related, but do know that I have never left the fandom. NEVER!

On to the latest Chapter 123: could you guess who made my day? It's the freakishly cute FREELANCE REPORTER! I can't even describe how much I fangirled so hard at the sight of him! He's too cute to be true; and beside Sebastian, doing the "Watch the Birdie" pose, it's all I need to write a fanfic at once! I know we know nothing about the reporter, but many fans think that he's one of Vincent's crew of Evil Noblemen as seen in earlier chapters (and Yana herself states that he already appeared before), so that's my basis of his characterization in this one-shot.

I am usually against naming one-shot OCs, but for the character development and depth, I chose to give her one. Here, she has mysterious connections with Vincent's Evil Noblemen, but decided to stop after his death.

Some other points I want to, well, point out:

* _Crowley_ comes from Aleistor Crowley, who has his fair share of publishing the _The Book of the Goetia of Solomon the King_. Since we don't know his name, this is

* _Odette_ is inspired from the Swan Lake protagonist; swan is a type of bird hence the "Watch the Birdie" phrase. _Alighieri_ comes from Dante Alighieri, the author of The Divine Comedy. Contrary to popular belief, the surname is actually common in Italy and made a male name out of it, Alighiero.

If you have questions, opinions, or reactions to this one-shot, it would be greatly appreciated. If you simply want to fangirl about the freelance reporter, COME TO ME AT ONCE! We shall fangirl together, my fellow fan! (◕‿◕✿)

Thank you for reading, my dearies! (^.ㅅ.^)ﾉ


End file.
